Chapter 15

A/U for "Home"

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"May I join you?"

Trip looked up from where he was sitting, startled by T'Les' quiet voice carrying through the night air.

"Of course," he said, gesturing to the chair beside him.

T'Les walked over and settled there. She didn't speak, just looked with him at the night sky, a swath of stars brighter than he'd ever seen from a planet's surface.

They were sitting in a courtyard off the main part of the house, a peaceful and secluded space he'd discovered while walking with T'Les and Lorian a few days ago. It was cool, the heat of the day having dissipated as soon as the sun went down. Trip held a mug of tea in his hands, and he took a drink as he studied the view and tried to make sense of the unexpected path life had taken.

T'Les' voice broke the silence. "Has T'Pol retired?"

Trip nodded. "We were busy today. I think she's exhausted."

T'Les pressed her lips together firmly and didn't respond.

It had been a tense couple of days.

The morning after T'Pol's surge of anger, she had woken Trip early, not to fix breakfast but to leave on a sightseeing excursion. He'd tried to argue that Lorian and the older T'Pol were coming back—they would expect them to be there—but T'Pol dismissed his concern.

"They need time with my mother," she'd said. "Time alone. We will only be interfering."

T'Pol had immediately changed the subject and Trip hadn't had another argument that seemed adequate, so he didn't protest. Hopping on transports, they'd crisscrossed the planet, visiting two famous sites yesterday and today.

Yesterday had been the Cliffs of Surak overlooking Lake Yuron, a breathtaking sight. It reminded Trip of Lake Mead in Nevada, North America, but on a much grander scale. Huge red cliffs overlooked a lake that spanned more square kilometers than his home state of Florida. It was deep, but very clear. T'Pol had pointed out freshwater fish, some the size of whales, darting in and out of the underwater caves in the depths below them.

Today, they'd climbed Mt. Tarhana and toured the rim of the volcano. An entirely different site, but no less impressive, and certainly no less beautiful. Trip had met the vulcanologist he'd joked about, and he'd learned a lot that was surprisingly applicable to his work life. Vulcans in this area owed a lot of their energy to the harnessing of the power the volcanic activity provided.

But now, as he reflected on the past two days, he frowned as he realized it could all be summed up in one word: distraction.

Both nights, after hours filled with busy nothing, they'd returned to T'Les' house after Lorian and the other T'Pol had left, and eaten dinner in near silence. And both nights, T'Pol had retreated to her bedroom as quickly as possible.

Through it all, she had remained virtually silent. Not about anything related to their sightseeing; on that she had been more talkative than he'd ever seen her. A veritable fountain of factual information poured from her at every opportunity. Any silence she allowed was fraught with tension.

But unexpectedly, the barrier in his mind had disappeared.

He almost hadn't realized it. He'd left T'Pol's room two nights ago trying to respect her need for space. It was the last thing she needed, in his opinion, but he'd already pushed her to her limits.

It was the next morning when he woke up that he had realized it was gone. His first instinct had been to rush to her, wrap her energy in his, and flood her with encouragement. He'd almost done it—was just about to, in fact—when he remembered something important.

He'd promised not to.

Instinctively, Trip knew this respect of her boundaries was crucial. He'd promised to keep his distance, to avoid encroaching on her personal space unless she asked him to connect with her. He knew from past experience that if she was really in trouble, if the emotions were uncontrollable, he'd feel them anyway. In that case, all bets were off. It would be like waiting for permission to save someone drowning.

Respecting her space was something specific he could do, as much as he didn't like it. He wasn't her master, her keeper, or her parent. T'Pol was a highly intelligent adult, and one who was going through a journey of self-discovery. He couldn't take that path for her.

He needed to respect her need to do it herself, or at least her need to try. And deep down, he knew that in the long run—and he would make damn sure there would be long run—their relationship would be strengthened by the crucible of now.

So for the last two days, Trip had gone back to other, less invasive methods of connecting with her. On the first day, he had attempted to talk with her, to try to work through the stress she was obviously facing, but she shut him down. After observing her that day both in his mind and out of it, he realized that she was trying to cope with the hopelessness of their situation.

Damn—he wanted to help her. But he felt pretty helpless, too.

Trip was so lost in thought that when T'Les spoke again, he jumped.

"My daughter does not cope well with stress."

Trip turned to her in surprise. T'Les knew nothing of T'Pol's trellium addiction. It was true that T'Pol's stress tolerance was compromised now because of that, but T'Les had no way of knowing. And besides, he thought her composure in stressful situations prior to their last mission had been rock solid, when she had been most like the T'Pol her mother knew.

"I'm not sure that's true," he said, trying to sound respectful. "Not most of the time, anyway. I've never seen anyone better under pressure."

T'Les met his eyes unflinchingly. "You are referring to professional situations. You are correct—in those instances, she is rarely disconcerted. It is personal stress that confounds her." She looked away, lifting her own teacup and taking a sip. "It always has. Ever since she was a child."

Trip tried to imagine T'Pol as a child, but it was difficult. Strange that he'd never once thought about her like that.

"Do you mind if I ask some questions?" Trip said, hesitant.

"Of what nature?"

"About Vulcans."

"A broad topic, but I will tell you what I can."

"Are Vulcan children emotional?"

T'Les pinned him with a disappointed stare that immediately made Trip uncomfortable. He quickly amended, "That's not what I meant. I know Vulcans have emotions. So the kids would too. But what I mean is, do they have trouble controlling them?"

"Could you eat with utensils from birth?"

Trip blinked at her for a moment before answering. "Ah, no."

"Taking in food is a biological necessity. The manner in which we do so is a learned behavior based on cultural norms. It is the same with emotional processing. Some behaviors are instinctual. Others are not. For Vulcans, emotional suppression is needed because our emotions are capable of such instability."

Well, that was food for thought. Lorian popped into Trip's mind and he wondered wistfully what he'd been like as a two-year-old. Had he been more human or more Vulcan in his behavior? Or, as T'Les was implying, was there any difference at that age?

He turned back to T'Les. "How young do they start?"

"Children are trained to process emotion as soon as they learn to speak. Meditation is an important part of early childhood education." She took another drink of her tea. "And of course, that education is continued in the home."

His curiosity overcame him. "So what was T'Pol like as a little girl?"

T'Les' expression was suddenly enigmatic, her eyes focused on some point in the distance. "She was—volatile."

Her statement had the ring of truth. As she talked, he'd been trying to imagine a six-year-old T'Pol sitting primly in front of meditation candles, but it didn't fit. The word volatile, however—that seemed appropriate. An image sprang to life in his mind, a little version of her, fire in her eyes, kneeling in a Vulcan version of a time-out.

Trip suppressed a smile as he wondered why T'Les was being so open with him, but he wasn't about to walk away. Not when she was providing such valuable insight into T'Pol's history.

"Still, her intelligence was undeniable," T'Les continued. "Her emotions were problematic even during her adolescence, a time in which most Vulcan children have begun to master emotional control."

Trip sobered at the reminder: emotional control was still her greatest struggle.

"And you still see that now?"

Trip asked the question carefully. He didn't want to betray T'Pol's secrets, but her mother knew her so well—Trip wasn't sure those secrets could be kept. Not from someone so intuitive.

"I do," T'Les acknowledged. She waited a bit before speaking again. When she did, her tone was almost hesitant. "You said that T'Pol experienced trauma on your last mission."

Trip nodded. "We all did. It scarred all of us."

She tilted her head thoughtfully as she looked at him. "Do you feel you've recovered?"

Trip laughed once at the impossibility of such a thing. "No, ma'am. I think the last year is going to be with me for the rest of my life." He drank the last of his tea, setting his mug at the end of the flat, wooden armrest of his chair. "I'm copin' with it okay though. I guess. Losin' my sister in the Xindi attack was the hardest part. But the rest was pretty difficult, too."

"I was not aware you had lost a family member."

"I did. My younger sister."

It felt strange that T'Les didn't reply, and it took a moment for Trip to realize why. Humans were so quick to offer trite phrases after the loss of a loved one, feeling the need to fill the space with something. But Vulcans didn't do so.

Trip remembered what T'Pol had said so long ago, the first time she'd offered her emotions to him as he'd cried about his sister: Vulcans do feel the loss of loved ones, but they do not dwell on it. Feeling the emotions too fully is dangerous for them.

T'Les wasn't aware of his reflection, and continued. "Trauma affects Vulcans differently."

"How so?"

"Although we suppress our emotions, one unfortunate result of suppression is that psychological trauma can be more difficult to overcome. Its effects often manifest in unexpected ways."

"Such as?"

"The most common is decision-making with faulty logic."

"You mean the emotion is influencing the logic, but the person doesn't even realize it?"

T'Les nodded once. "Precisely."

Trip stopped to think. Everything she said made sense. T'Pol's current emotional state wasn't solely because of the Trellium. That had been the catalyst, but the subsequent effects, both physical and emotional, were indistinguishable from one another. And the result of it all had been significant trauma.

Trip thought about all those moments during their mission, all those times when her emotions had overwhelmed her. The trellium had, at first, acted as a mask of the more volatile emotions, allowing chemically-enabled positive emotions to outway the negative ones. But over time, those negative emotions had grown, feeding each on the next. The nightmares, the stress, the anger, worry, fear—all of it, like layers of rock building up over time.

Even without the trellium, T'Pol would likely have been scarred by the sheer stress and danger of such a mission. T'Les' revelations had indicated as much. But the trellium on top of it, magnifying everything—no wonder she was barely holding herself together.

They sat in silence for several minutes. After a while, another thought occurred to him, and it was so intriguing he didn't even stop to think of the rudeness of his question; he simply asked it.

"Have you ever had to overcome something like that?"

T'Les' eyes whipped to his, her surprise evident. "That is quite a personal question, Mr. Tucker. I thought humans respected privacy."

Trip couldn't help it; he blushed. "We do, ma'am. I apologize."

She looked away, and Trip tried again. "It's just—I was curious because you seem very controlled. I was just wonderin' if it's hard to come back from—if it's possible."

"You think it might not be."

"Well, trauma is damaging," Trip said slowly. "I'm only goin' off what I know about humans, but I know that if the damage is extensive enough, that person is changed forever.

T'Les regarded him thoughtfully. "Every individual is changed by his or her experiences. It is the way of a conscious existence."

"True, but I mean, goin' back to your original statement, that trauma can lead to faulty logic—is it possible that a Vulcan's logic will forever be tainted because of the traumatic experiences?"

She studied his face again before answering. "I believe you are working under a misconception, Mr. Tucker. You seem to believe that Vulcan logic is infallible. That when we suppress our emotions, we are somehow able to see all things clearly and our judgment is without error."

"Well, not exactly, but I would think your battin' average would go up without the emotion gettin' in the way."

"Batting average?"

Trip waved a hand. "Sorry. An idiom. I mean that logic makes Vulcans right more often than not."

T'Les set down her teacup. "Again, a misconception."

Trip let out a grunt of frustration. "Then what's the point of it all? If it doesn't make you more efficient or better somehow? Why even bother suppressin' your emotions?"

"Because without logic and emotional suppression, Mr. Tucker, my species nearly destroyed itself."

Trip blinked at that. "So logic doesn't make Vulcans infallible, just less violent."

"It is true that we have a higher degree of accuracy and efficiency when we apply logic correctly. But life is complex. Resources and power are not equally distributed, and needs often compete with aspirations. Even correct logic is not always identically applied by different individuals."

Trip rubbed a hand over his face. He felt like he was thinking in circles.

T'Les seemed to recognize he'd reached his limit. "But to answer your most personal question, Mr. Tucker, yes. I have experienced trauma. That trauma compromised my ability to apply logic accurately."

Again, Trip wondered why T'Les was sharing so much with him. What was she getting at?

Eventually, a need to know won out over his wariness. "But you overcame it."

She nodded. "I did. My husband was able to recognize my struggle, and together, we repaired the damage to my mind. The strength of our bond was healing."

"But T'Pol—"

Trip stopped, realizing his dilemma. If he told T'Les he was T'Pol's mate, he'd be revealing something T'Pol had asked him to keep secret. He'd be betraying her trust. But if he kept silent—well, he knew where this was going. T'Les had an agenda, and he'd just discovered it: Koss.

"Without a mate," T'Les continued, knowing eyes boring into Trip's, "she may not be able to overcome her trauma. Not fully."

Bingo.

Trip looked away, afraid his eyes would give him away. His heart pounded in his chest, and the night was still—he hoped she couldn't hear it. His mind raced, and he ached to spill the whole truth. T'Pol had a mate. She didn't need Koss. Trip himself had already been successful in helping her.

But what if T'Les disapproved? What if she thought he wasn't good enough, and she pushed for Koss, despite what T'Pol wanted?

It didn't matter, though. T'Pol wanted him to stay silent, so he would. Even if it killed him.

It felt like it would.

"She's doing pretty well, all things considered," Trip finally said. "I can see her dealin' with it. She's strong. Really strong."

T'Les was watching him, and it felt to Trip as though her gaze was burning into the side of his face.

"No matter how strong she is, without a bonded mate, she may not be able to fully heal. And without overcoming it, she may be forever compromised."

"She might not be," Trip countered. "No one is perfect."

"I agree," T'Les said. "Perfection is not required. But when she is relied upon by Starfleet and your captain for her Vulcan logic, she may not be able to fulfill that role adequately."

T'Les stood, and Trip finally looked up and met her eyes.

"Emotion skews the perception of even the most earnest individual, Mr. Tucker." She bent down to retrieve her cup. "And on a starship, compromised command endangers lives."

She turned and walked away, leaving Trip to hope that he was a good enough mate to T'Pol to prove her wrong.

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"This is beautiful."

Trip and T'Pol were standing at the rim of a lava field, the heat wafting up toward them, making the air waver.

"It is," T'Pol agreed. "The fireplains are unique among the worlds we've visited."

They stood there in silence, taking in the scene.

In the distance, huge monuments jutted up toward the red-purple sky, giant stone carvings of Vulcan men and women in ancient dress. They were the original Kolinahr Masters, those who had trained with Surak and helped him found the Vulcan way of logic.

The conversation with T'Les last night echoed in Trip's mind, amplified by the visual reminder of Vulcan logic now before him. He'd been awake for a long time last night wrestling with his choices. He had several of them, but one truth had risen above the rest:

T'Pol needed her mate, now more than ever. He had to help her see that.

He turned, taking in her profile. The heat from the fireplains wafted toward them like a hot breeze in summer, making her hair flutter. They were at a safe distance, but it wasn't comfortable, despite the beauty.

"It's been three days, T'Pol," he said quietly. "Are you ever going to talk to me?"

She pressed her lips together, and he watched as her eyes began to shine with unshed tears. It had been happening more and more lately. Without the full strength of their bond, without him to help her process those negative emotions, her once-steely control was brittle at best.

"I cannot see another solution." She swallowed. "I cannot see a way out."

Trip felt his heart stutter. She did need him; that much was certain. But needing him and getting to have him—those were two different problems to solve. Needing was a simple solution: acceptance.

But the reality of having him, of their relationship moving forward without barriers, was seemingly insurmountable. Koss and his family stood between them, his power over her mother's future making him an immovable monolith.

To lose her after all they'd been through—it was unthinkable. His thoughts skipped rapidly, hoping to find a stone unturned.

There were none.

He began to grasp at straws. "Are you sure Koss's family will prosecute your mother?"

"I am sure."

"They won't give up once they realize you won't budge?"

She shook her head. "Koss realizes he has the upper hand. He also anticipates that I will not sacrifice my mother for personal gain." She looked at him, tortured eyes begging him to understand. "He is correct."

Trip ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just don't understand why he's so hellbent on marryin' you. So what if you were betrothed so long ago? Can't he find a willing wife?"

"He plans to hold government office. A broken betrothal would be seen as instability, and make that aspiration more difficult, if not impossible."

Trip threw his hands up. "So he can work harder!"

T'Pol shook her head again. "An alliance with my family also carries weight. We have documented proof of our lineage back to the original masters. And in their own professional communities, my parents are highly regarded." She paused. "Or were."

Trip stared at the flowing lava in the valley beyond. It was an apt metaphor for the power Koss held: an unsympathetic force inexorably moving toward destruction.

When the weight of inevitability became too much, Trip moved in front of T'Pol, taking her hands in his. "This isn't right. There has to be a way."

Her voice broke when she answered. "I have considered every possibility."

Trip hesitated, but last night's conversation was so fresh in his mind that he couldn't stay quiet. "There's one possibility still left."

She looked at him skeptically.

"You haven't told your mom."

"Told her what?"

"That you already have a mate. A mate who's helped you. Who's good for you." He paused. "A mate you want."

T'Pol looked away. "Asking for her opinion is pointless. Even if she approves, Koss remains an unsolvable problem."

Trip dropped her hands. "It isn't pointless! It's her life hangin' in the balance here, too, T'Pol. Maybe she'd see that you already havin' a mate is worth fightin' Koss and his family."

T'Pol stepped away, frustrated. "I have not spoken with my mother because I know what she will say. She made her opinion clear when she gave me the letter from Koss. She reiterated her position when she told me about her forced resignation from the science academy."

She paused and stared out at the lava field, frustration and despair pulsing so strongly within her that Trip felt it echo in his mind.

"Logic dictates that one must choose the option that results in the most gain for the least sacrifice," she continued, her voice dull with resignation. "Marrying Koss is that option."

"Droppin' one mate for another is one helluva sacrifice, T'Pol. I think your mom would see that."

T'Pol crossed her arms, giving him her profile, chin up. "She would not. She would not see our bond as valid. The betrothal with Koss has been planned since childhood. In her mind, it will not be a sacrifice to abandon a weak bond with a human and marry a Vulcan. It is fulfilling a duty that should have been fulfilled already."

Trip put a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her. "You don't know until you ask her."

She shrugged him off, spine rigid.

He frowned at her tense profile. "I've talked to her a little bit. I think you might be shortchangin' her." Trip paused, trying to push past his own skepticism to convince her. "She knows how I feel about you."

T'Pol's eyes whipped to his, astonished. "How?"

"She guessed. When I was fixin' her appliances the other day. She was askin' me questions, kinda baitin' me, to be honest." Trip smiled slightly. "I was bein' played, and I didn't even realize it. I sang your praises, and she read between the lines."

A spark of panic flared in her eyes. "So you confirmed our relationship?"

"No," Trip said, drawing close and taking her hands again. "I wouldn't go behind your back like that." Although last night's conversation with T'Les skirted the line pretty damn close. He sighed. "I kinda backtracked, told her it was one-sided, and then Lorian showed up at the door, like some kind of guardian angel."

T'Pol gripped his hand in both of hers. In his mind, Trip felt her inch closer to him. He closed the distance, settling as close to her as he could get without blending their energies.

"I think you should talk to her. At least see where she stands. Tell her the truth."

She lifted tortured eyes to his. "I can't. If she disapproves—"

Trip squeezed her hand in reassurance. "You're forgettin' something else important."

"Such as?"

"Your mom's spent the last three days with the other T'Pol. And with Lorian."

T'Pol blinked at him. "I do not follow your logic."

"She's seen the possibility of us come to life. She's seen the evidence of a successful relationship between the other us."

T'Pol shook her head. "Their story is separate from ours, at least in this way. She will consider it irrelevant. My counterpart had no Vulcan mate to choose. I do."

Trip's eyes narrowed. An idea had just occurred to him, one he wished he'd thought of ten minutes ago. That conversation with T'Les yesterday resonated in his mind.

Faulty logic.

He quickly thought back through this conversation. Every suggestion he'd made, T'Pol had dismissed. Too quickly, he realized. She had been thinking about this for three days, alone, with nothing but her pent-up emotions to filter fact from fiction.

What had T'Les said? Emotion skews the perception of even the most earnest individual?

The problem was, the only two ways he knew to reboot her hard drive, so to speak, was to turn her on or to get her angry. Out here, turning her on was impractical, and probably a little dangerous. Increasing the pressure without a release valve wasn't smart.

That fury overload a few days ago, though; that had been a kind of cleansing fire. Maybe if he pressed that button—but the risk was substantial. If he pushed too hard, it could backfire.

But in his heart, he felt that T'Les, and perhaps the other T'Pol, could see a way through this. A way that meant he and T'Pol could finally find their way to be together for good, nothing stopping them.

He took a deep breath.

"You know," he said slowly. "I think you're bein' awfully intransigent about this."

She glared at him. "Intransigent?"

"You won't even consider talkin' to your mom. You're scared."

She stiffened. "I am not scared."

Trip nodded. "Yes, honey, you are."

"Fear has no bearing against the facts. That my mother will prefer a bond with Koss over a bond with you is a fact not in question."

He scoffed at that. "What facts? You've given me nothin' but suppositions. You're basin' your prediction of your mom's disapproval over a couple of heated conversations, one that happened not even fifteen minutes after we walked in her front door."

"And a lifetime of experience with her opinions," T'Pol shot back.

"Forgive me for sayin' so," Trip said, and T'Pol's eyebrow shot up in wariness, "But I think your judgment's a little compromised at the moment." He made a swirly motion at her head. "Maybe I'd believe you if you'd let me help you process all that negativity you got swimmin' around up in there."

Her jaw tensed. "You have crossed a line, Commander."

He grunted. "I guess so, if you're breakin' out my rank." He paused. "Still, it's a shame."

"What?"

He shrugged. "That you're so stubborn that you won't even try to understand your own feelings."

"I am not scared!"

He leaned down, matching their eye level, nose to nose. "Then what are you?"

"I'm angry!" She hissed it through clenched teeth.

He stood straight, crossing his arms and looking down at her. "Wrong."

T'Pol let out a cry of frustration so heart wrenching that Trip nearly lost his nerve. She shoved him, and Trip stumbled a step back.

When he spoke, his voice was calm with a thread of steel. "That anger is like that lava out there. Showy and destructive. When it's comin' at you, it's all that you notice." He stepped closer. "But just like that lava's born in the core of the planet, your anger comes from someplace, darlin'. It's inspired by somethin'. What is it?"

Her lips trembled. "It's not fear."

He stared at her, then pressed harder, threading some sarcasm in his tone. "Like you would know."

"I do know! It's my mind. My feelings! Stop telling me what I'm thinking!" With every sentence, her volume rose.

He matched her, now toe-to-toe. "I wouldn't have to tell you if you'd only let me in!"

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because I'll hurt you!" Tears welled instantly, one coursing down her cheek. Her voice broke. "I can't keep hurting you. I can't. I have to marry Koss. And that means leaving you."

Another tear fell, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Leaving you is going to break both of us if I don't get some distance."

Trip raised a hand, cupping her face. "Honey, that's fear." His thumb stroked her cheek, wiping the tear away. "Let me in. Please."

Her eyes slid closed, her wet eyelashes spiky on her cheeks. The world seemed to slow down as he waited, his heart pounding in his ears. Just when he thought he'd lost, she raised trembling hands and placed them on his face, her eyes still closed. His fingers found the points on hers.

And there she was.

Trip's energy slid towards hers and there was no resistance. She melted into him, and Trip found all of those superficial emotions, the ones that were masking the core of her pain, and encompassed them all until they disappeared. From the deepest part of her, he pulled the darkest shadow up and held it suspended, now revealed for both of them to see.

It was the fear she had been denying, now undeniable.

He let it hang there, letting both of them feel the weight of it, the draw of it, the temptation that called to them both to drown in its depths. And then with all of the love he had for her, he surrounded it, melting it as much as he could.

It shrank, but it wouldn't disappear.

T'Pol's energy inside him trembled. He noticed for the first time that tendrils of her golden light were threaded through the deepest part of the fear, like veins of ore through granite. He probed deeper, and the fear became known. Losing him wasn't the only thing that terrified her; the possibility of losing her mother's approval was equally if not more devastating.

Trip pulled their energies together like a blanket and wrapped them around her fear once again, hiding it. Protecting it.

He couldn't destroy this fear. Only T'Pol could do that herself.

And right now, the potential for devastation was huge, and very real.

Trip pulled back, sliding his hands down her face and breaking the connection. He opened his eyes and looked deeply into hers.

She was calmer, steadier. But the fear lurked there, and Trip knew what he'd suggested wasn't the right step. Not yet.

"I get that you're not ready to talk to your mom," he said quietly, his thumb over the pulse at her neck. "But you're going to need to, eventually."

She looked down briefly before meeting his eyes again. "I know."

He smiled slightly. "But in the meantime, there's one other person you can talk to."

As attuned as they now were, she immediately understood. "You mean T'Pol."

"Yes."

She seemed thoughtful, but not entirely convinced. "Our situations are quite different."

"They are," he agreed. "But she's you, T'Pol. At least a version of you. Someone who understands who you are right now. I think she'd understand what you're goin' through. And she made the choice you're tryin' to give up."

"It wasn't exactly a choice. They were stranded in the past together."

"She could've chosen differently. Please, darlin'. It's our last chance. Doesn't this—us—deserve every possibility to succeed? Exhaustin' every option we have?"

She bit her lip.

"She can be your mirror. The one who can help you see the way through." He slid his arms around her waist pulling her close. He kissed her forehead gently. "As much as I want to be that for you, I can't. Not this time. You need her, not me."

She regarded him in silence, but Trip sensed she was almost there.

"If it weren't for your mom, for her disapproval, and for what could happen to her if we defy Koss and his family, would you want to be with me? Forever?"

Her expression turned certain. "Without question."

"Then go to T'Pol. See if the two of you can put those beautiful brains together and figure a way out."

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A/N: One more chapter! :)